The World Shakes With Silence
by Illiomaroma
Summary: Nostalgia breeds sadness, sadness brings fear, fear hoists hate, hate mirrors love, and love causes nostalgia. A circle of catastrophic dimensions, but with little to do with what we truly need. VIOLAF
1. Remembrancer Prologue

**Author: **Nanaki Everblaze**  
Story: **The World Shakes With Silence**  
Pairing: **Olaf/Violet, hints of Olaf/Kit and Olaf/Esme**  
Summary: **Nostalgia breeds sadness, sadness brings fear, fear hoists hate, hate mirrors love, and love causes nostalgia. A circle of catastrophic dimensions.**  
Disclaimer:** While I might've enjoyed my romps with the characters of ASOUE for the last five years, I never have (and doubtfully ever will) own the rights of the Baudelaires and all they've encountered. All that belongs solely to Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler (except perhaps the Count, who belongs to himself in addition).  
**Warning(s): **Rated M for nudity, sexuality, and coarse language. Oh, and there's spoilers, too. C:

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In the beginning, there was a bang of gunfire.

Olaf wasn't that surprised, it was all part of the play, after all, but he jumped a little regardless as he tossed the false gun to center stage and a loud crack of pyrotechnics burst from the chamber.

It was when the audience screamed and began to throw themselves out of their seats that he began to clue into the fact that something was _extremely_ wrong.

A second shot roared over the crowd, as mass hysteria suddenly seemed to grip his fellow actors, many of whom ran for the doors, while others (like himself at that moment) merely stood in confusion and disbelief.

Something clicked in his head, though, and he found himself diving off the stage and beginning to tear himself through the mob that was currently stampeding through the aisles. Pushing and shoving (and getting knocked back several times as he went) he reached...

_'...Oh God no.'_

He took a step back, shaking and leaning against one of the seats, unable to breathe, unable think of anything beyond panicked, racing pleas of denial, until he took in the scene and realized (somewhere, in the blank vacuum of his currently overloaded brain) that his father was nowhere to be found.

An burst of thought followed that as he turned and raced down the aisle (not before carefully draping the costume cape over his mother's body, eyes glassy but filled with pride _'--don't think about that now, don't think about that now, don't--' _ and kissing her on the cheek), as desperation coiled in his chest.

A familiar face suddenly made itself known by the doors, soft brown eyes and blond hair ushering terrified patrons out an emergency exit.

"Kit! KIT!"

He fought his way over to her, but a particularly tall man shoved him back and he fell. When he got to his feet, she was gone.

Huffing in terror and frustration, he looked behind him; the crowd was thinner in that direction, so he began to make his way towards the stage again. Maybe if he could veer around from the back exit and see if he could find his father out front.

A hand poked out from under the far curtain; how he'd missed it during those few seconds in which he'd just stood there, he had no idea, but there was no missing the design of the wedding ring on his left hand.

He rocked back on his heels as a single thought twitched in the back of his head.

_'Not random, targeted. Targeted. Not random. Target--'_

A third blast brought screams from the crowd at the doors as something whistled past his left ear, making it tingle. He jumped, and his head snapped in the direction of the sound, and he saw a long, thin tube poking out of the closed curtain of --

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"Boss! Boss, get up, c'mon!"

Groaning, he felt a pair of hooks dig into his shoulders, shaking him, and he didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"Piss off, Fernald. I'll stab you, I mean it," he mumbled drowsily, rubbing his eyes. Grudgingly, he looked up and plastered the most annoyed expression he could muster. Squinting into the far corner of the darkened room, his eyes found a clock.

"It's only 7:25, you prick. Let me go back to sleep."

His employee sighed apprehensively. "Boss, I don't think you want to miss your wedding."

Frowning and looking up, Olaf stared at him in irritation. "It's only--"

"Friday, boss."

"What?! I went to sleep--"

"On Wednesday. I know."

Olaf sighed and pulled himself to his feet, his head spinning from his last hangover. "No time for a bachelor party, I'll assume?"

Fernald gave a tense smile, clearly uncertain whether his next words were going to be taken as a joke or not. "Well, we would've brought you, but I don't think it would've been much fun that way."

The count smirked at that but didn't say anything in response.

Twenty minutes and a painkiller later, and he was striding up the stairs to his tower, dressed in his best (cleanest) suit, he paused outside the door to his tower and caught a faint snatch of conversation from inside.

"--I'm afraid Olaf's troupe would overpower us."

"You could say 'I don't,' instead of 'I do,' but I'm afraid Count Olaf would order Sunny dropped off the tower."

"I certainly would," Olaf huffed, opening the door as the boy and his sister blinked at him with all the guilt of being caught conspiring.

After a brief speech on exactly what would happen if they tried whatever they were planning, he held open the door and they followed him out silently.

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A week of planning failed and he found himself sulking in the back seat of his overcrowded car. Wrinkling his nose at the stench of excessive perfume, he clenched his teeth at how that bloody orphan had managed to ruin everything.

And at himself, for not realizing her plan in time.

If only he hadn't screwed it up, she'd be sitting next to him (maybe even _on_ him; who's to say what she might do without that overbearing brother of hers?).

Sinking lower into the cushion of the seat, he huffed in frustration.

But success was still within reach.


	2. Contrivance I

**Author:** Nanaki Everblaze  
**Story:** The World Shakes With Silence  
**Pairing:** Olaf/Violet, hints of Olaf/Kit and Olaf/Esme  
**Summary:** Nostalgia breeds sadness, sadness brings fear, fear hoists hate, hate mirrors love, and love causes nostalgia. A circle of catastrophic dimensions.  
**Disclaimer:** While I might've enjoyed my romps with the characters of ASOUE for the last five years, I never have (and doubtfully ever will) own the rights of the Baudelaires and all they've encountered. All that belongs solely to Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler (except perhaps the Count, who belongs to himself in addition).  
**Chapter:** Chapter 1

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So, he hunted them, looking for a way into their bank account as he did so, and slowly, a mixture of grudging respect and disgusted admiration began to well within his heart. He forced them through the nastiest plots he'd ever had the heart to dredge up, and yet they still managed to not only survive, but stay as some small, broken, but still loving, family unit.

Put in simpler terms, they fascinated him in their own separate yet symbiotic ways. The baby, for merely managing to remain alive; the bookworm, for his ability to appear as such a ninny and yet manage to somehow keep a cool head despite what was thrown his way; and the eldest, the inventor, _Violet_, the only girl he'd ever known to be able to make a grappling hook out of coat-hangers, sheets, and a curtain rod (and still manage to somehow manage to look beautiful, no matter how bruised she wound up).

Five months, eleven days, fifteen hours and thirty-two minutes ago, he could've been in relative luxury, living with his pretty little slave (_'Wife, but don't start thinking of her as one,'_) in the comfort of his own home, taking the occasional delight in teasing his neighbour into tears.

But noooooo.

Now he was forced to sit in a submarine in the bottom of the goddamn ocean, trying to keep his mind off the fact that now, everything he'd worked so hard for had been wrenched away from him yet again. Except this time there was absolutely no chance he was going to be able to give it another go.

He'd seen the bits of painted, splintered wood on the jagged rocks that lined the tributary and it didn't take him long to realize what had occurred. A brief search of the area revealed no footprints, no other flotation device, no evidence of a possible seaplane... nothing. There was no bodies, either, but they could've easily been swept up by an undertow.

The only other possibility would have to have been another submarine. But that was ridiculous.

The only underwater craft in the area was himself and...

And the glowing Q on the sonar screen.

"... Well, ho ho sniggle."

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After searching for nearly six hours (and discovering the quickest way to get rid of Esme and Carmelita after three), he finally admitted defeat. The chance of those orphans having survived, much less been found, was impossible.

And if it was impossible, then they were probably fine and well.

Alright, so he was just getting lazy. No issue.

They'd turn up eventually.

And right on que, the monitor to his left started flashing. He blinked at it wearily, but was relieved to see a miniscule letter "Q" slowly inching towards the eye in the very center of the screen. Smirking, he got to his feet and almost skipped out the door and down the hallway. Pausing a moment to throw open the door to the brig (and consequently scaring Fernald half to death) he said something about having visitors and preparing a surprise in a tone that sounded suspiciously sing-song. Then, after slamming the door behind him and sprinting across the rowing room before anyone could stop him, he kicked open the door to the submarine carrier and leapt onto the closest platform just as the Queequeg tumbled through the far tunnel and came to a jarring stop before him.

Leaning forward, peering through the window, he caught sight of the two elder Baudelaires, and in truth he could've cried in relief. He chose to laugh instead, drawing the sword from the old naval costume he'd found and carving a circle in the window. Leaping through, he landed on the table and began to recite the most ridiculous shit he could come up with, to the apparent fear and disgust of the Baudelaires and the third child who'd come down to see what the ruckus was.

"Stop laughing, Count Olaf," Violet said, looking more than a little angry, much to his amusement. "There's nothing funny about villainy."

"Sure there is!" And thus the tirade began. For a while, both sides (including the mysterious child, who he soon discovered was none other than little Fiona) continued their little war of words, until they let slip their current weakness.

"Sunny is in here, and she's very sick," Violet said when the diving helmet in her hands gave a horrendous cough that threw him temporarily off his game.

"There's a very deadly poison inside that helmet. Aye! If Sunny doesn't get the antidote within the hour, she'll perish."

"What do I care?" Olaf spat, annoyed a little and not entirely certain why. "I only need one Baudelaire alive."

"If you let us help our sister," Violet began, "we'll tell you where the sugar bowl is."

Olaf smirked. "You can't try that again. I'm not going to bargain with an orphan no matter how pretty..." but he couldn't finish his sentence as a suddenly wicked idea flickered to life in the back of his brain.

_'Captains can officiate weddings, right?'  
_  
He leered down at them now, before leaning in directly to Violet until he was eye-level with her.

"Tell you what, orphan. If you can guess the plan I have in my head, I'll let you save your sister."

Violet blanched, looking lost but slightly hopeful.

"C-can I have a hint?"

Olaf's smirk widened, and his eyes narrowed. "Very well, but in return _you_ have to help me with the plan, got it?"

"Will the plan, uh, _hurt_ anybody?" she asked, staring him back in the eyes grudgingly.

"Not directly. Well, except perhaps your pride."

She was looking suspiciously at him now, calculating, but clearly desperation was in his favour.

"Fine. Tell me the hint."

Olaf nearly collapsed into giggles. Instead, he pressed a finger to his lips and tauntingly began to pace before her in mock thought.

Stopping suddenly, he opened his mouth to speak when Violet suddenly cut him off.

"Wait, how do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain? What if Sunny doesn't make it?"

Rolling his eyes, he sighed in mild annoyance. "I may be a villain, orphan, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of keeping my word. As for your sister's fate... well, I won't interfere. If she dies, then it's your fault, not mine."

Violet swallowed. "Fine, what's the hint."

Grinning openly again, he leaned down and murmured. "Carrot and the stick."

Pulling back, he grinned as he watched the colour drain from her face.

"M-marriage?"

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**Author's Note:** Yesyes, Nanaki's writing a new Violaf AU. Cause Matches and Darts (on the LJ Violaf community only) is rather dead.

And yes, it totally takes place in book 11. For teh lulz.

(Actuallyno, this is an idea I've had floating around for a year or so, but just decided to write it down now. c: )


	3. Contrivance II

**Author:** Nanaki Everblaze  
**Story:** The World Shakes With Silence  
**Pairing:** Olaf/Violet, hints of Olaf/Kit and Olaf/Esme  
**Summary:** Nostalgia breeds sadness, sadness brings fear, fear hoists hate, hate mirrors love, and love causes nostalgia. A circle of catastrophic dimensions.  
**Disclaimer:** While I might've enjoyed my romps with the characters of ASOUE for the last five years, I never have (and doubtfully ever will) own the rights of the Baudelaires and all they've encountered. All that belongs solely to Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler (except perhaps the Count, who belongs to himself in addition).  
**Chapter:** Chapter 2

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"You're all really boring, you know that?"

There was a pause in the previously non-stop scramble as four heads turned to face him, their expressions ranging from disgust, to fear, to downright hate.

"What, exactly, are you looking for, anyway?" Olaf sighed, lounging on the table in candour and using a book as a pillow.

Violet glanced up, not meeting his eyes. "We're looking for _Mushroo_--" she broke off in a huff, standing suddenly and stomping over to him. For a moment, the curtain of her hair shifted and her expression of almost unbelievable frustration nearly made him cower against the wooden table, but she merely grabbed the book from under his head and stomped back to her desk.

Within moments, the other orphans crowded around her, muttering amongst themselves.

Rolling onto his back, Olaf stared up at the ceiling, contemplating taking a brief nap while the orphans did whatever they needed to, when he heard a smattering of their conversation.

"What do carrots have to do with Violet getting married?" Fiona asked Klaus, while Violet was clearly trying to ignore her question.

Smirking, the count pulled himself to his feet.

"A stubborn mule does not move in the direction you want it to," he began, striding towards them as all eyes, except his future wife's, turned to follow him. "Thus, you must dangle a carrot in front of it, and a stick behind it, because it will move towards the reward of food and away from the punishment of pain. Similarly, Violet will marry me, in return for giving her... well, all of you, in this case... a chance to save the brat."

"He's done this before," Klaus muttered to Fiona, who looked mortified. "Same speech, almost word for word."

Olaf glowered at him. "Well, perhaps if you had understood it the first time, you wouldn't be in this pickle."

"Enough, Olaf." He tilted his head to see Violet, glaring past her brother. "You said you wouldn't interfere."

Olaf gritted his teeth and strode over to stand behind her. "Excuse me, my dear," he hissed before leaning down and whispering into her ear. "Sorry for _sparing_ you the _explanation_."

She didn't respond to this, opting to ignore him as she scanned through the book in front of her.  
"So what's wrong with the brat, anyway?" he asked, rhetorically addressing the bookworm and Fiona, seeing how Violet was clearly disinterested in talking to him. She surprised him, however, when she slammed the book down onto the table and grinned triumphantly.

"Absolutely nothing. Klaus, Fiona, come with me, bring Sunny."

Olaf followed them anyway.

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"Violet, why are we in the kitchen?"

"Yeah, Violet, why are we?" Olaf echoed, smirking.

Violet took a deep breath as though calming herself. "The book says that the antidote is horseradish. Root of horse, to be exact, but it's the same thing. I figured it out from the note Kit sent to Gregor Anwhistle."

Olaf's brain came to a jarring halt, even as the other children scrambled around the room. _'Kit and Gregor?'_

"It's gum! There's nothing but gum! And..."

There was a very long pause as Klaus's shocked silence broke through his thoughts. Frowning, he spotted all the orphans looking into the fridge, and he slid up behind them and peered over their shoulders.

They were staring at a large cake, the words "Violet's Fifteenth Date," written in deep green icing.

_'Fifteenth _what_?!'_

"I completely forgot," she said, dropping to her knees while Olaf gritted his teeth as his mind came to the most obvious conclusion. "It was my birthday, back when we were in the grotto. I completely forgot."

The count blinked as something clicked into his head, followed by a surge of relief. "So you're not..."

Violet looked up at him, looking tragic and confused, but he didn't bother finish his question so she merely turned her attention to the diving helmet beside her.

"Sunny remembered," Klaus said quietly. "We can't let her die."

Olaf wasn't entirely certain whether to scoff at this attempt of comfort or not. "Too bad wasabi wouldn't work," he said, half-joking and trying not to smirk.

"W-what did you say?"

Violet was blinking up at him in apparent shock.

Olaf frowned slightly. "Wasabi. It's a lot like horseradish, everyone knows that. But you don't have any."

Violet didn't reply, already digging in her pockets for something. And, lo and behold, there was wasabi.  
_'You've got to be shitting me.'_

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**Author's Note:** Hurr. c:

Yes, Olaf completely fails at taunting the orphans.

And he swears. :o (In his head, anyway.)


	4. Contrivance III

**Author:** Nanaki Everblaze  
 **Story:** The World Shakes With Silence   
**Pairing:** Olaf/Violet, hints of Olaf/Kit and Olaf/Esme   
**Summary:** Nostalgia breeds sadness, sadness brings fear, fear hoists hate, hate mirrors love, and love causes nostalgia. A circle of catastrophic dimensions.   
**Disclaimer:** While I might've enjoyed my romps with the characters of ASOUE for the last five years, I never have (and doubtfully ever will) own the rights of the Baudelaires and all they've encountered. All that belongs solely to Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler (except perhaps the Count, who belongs to himself in addition).   
**Chapter:** Chapter 3

While Olaf continued to stare at all four orphans in dumbfounded silence, Violet popped open the jar in her hands and peered inside. Frowning slightly, she bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before addressing everyone.

"There's only enough here to treat three people, and whoever opens the diving helmet will be exposed."

It was Olaf's turn to frown now, weighing the pros and cons.

"Well, I'm staying right here," he decided aloud, to the apparent surprise of the elder Baudelaires.

"Why?" asked the bookworm.

"What, you think I'm going to leave all three of you alone, unattended, where you might find a way to escape? Anyway, if I'm here, than one of you has to wait outside, and I know there's no way you'd leave behind one of your own. Unless you want them to die, that is."

Violet was openly glaring at him now.

"We don't have time for this Olaf. How will we decide who has to stay?"

Olaf grinned. "Don't be silly, Violet. It's Klaus's turn to be the hostage, I believe. After all, you and Sunny have been taken... what...? Twice now, each?" He earned another glare from Violet, and now Klaus as well.

"Besides, I'm certain Fiona wouldn't mind a bit of company when Big Brother gets here."

"W-what?" Fiona asked, clearly confused.

"You'll see," Olaf said, smirking. "Now go."

Klaus glowered at him one more time before turning and trudging out of the room, Fiona following him.

Grinning at Violet triumphantly, he faltered for a moment when he saw her teeth gritted in concentration as she began to open the helmet. The latch opened easily, but for some reason the lid itself appeared to be stuck. Wrenching on it, she finally had to stop for a minute and pull the hair out of her eyes and, for a moment, Olaf was startled to see her crying.

Sighing, he picked up the helmet himself, and Violet opened her mouth to protest until he wiggled it a little counter-clockwise, and it popped open.

Violet murmured a little "Thank you," (though it sounded rather more like "Fuck you," with her tone,) before reaching in an pulling out a gasping, sickly Sunny. Olaf wrinkled his nose in disgust as Violet quickly explained to the infant what was going on, before scooping out a spoonful of wasabi (where she got the spoon, he had no idea) and cramming it down the little orphan's throat. (Okay, maybe he was exaggerating a bit.)

There was a long moment while they waited, and Sunny's gasps turned to slow, easy breaths, before the infant finally seemed to notice his presence.

Blinking nervously, Sunny murmured something to Violet, who sighed before saying quietly, "I've made a deal with him, Sunny, but I don't want to talk about it right now."

With that, she scooped out a spoonful of wasabi, swallowed it, shuddered, and handed him the tin.

Peering inside, he frowned slightly before wordlessly taking the spoon from her and scraping out the rest.

"Well, what now?" Violet asked the moment he swallowed.

Olaf blinked. "Excuse me?"

"How do you intend to explain to Esme that you plan on marrying me? Without her trying to kill you?"

Olaf grinned toothily now. "Easy. I don't."

"What?"

Olaf pulled a walkie-talkie out of his pocket and it crackled to life. "Hey, Hooky?"

The voice of the Hook-Handed Man fizzed through the static. "Yes Boss?"

"Come down here, I need your assistance."

"Yes Boss."

Tuning out again, Olaf stood and motioned Violet to follow him. She did, albeit grudgingly, and they left the kitchen to find Klaus and Fiona in deep conversation.

"Alright orphans, listen up," Olaf crowed, as all eyes fell on him. "I want you three," here he pointed to Klaus, Sunny, and Fiona, "to fix that window."

All four children looked at one another in confusion. "Why?" Violet asked, but she already had her suspicions.

Olaf smirked at her. "You'll see. Now, is there another way to get into this vessel, other than the window?"

Fiona stood and walked wordlessly over to the far wall of the main room. Pushing aside a table that was leaning against the wall, she revealed a hidden hatch. "This opens directly to the outside of the Queequeg. Aye! Why?"

The count glowered. "Never you mind. Now get to work on that window."

The orphans sighed and obeyed the words of a madman.

**Author's Note:** Holyshit, this was done quicker than I thought. XD

Sorry if nothing interesting's happening yet, I wrote this after getting up at three p.m. (my equivelent to three a.m. D:).

It should start getting hotter by the next chapter. c:


	5. Contrivance IV

**Author:** Nanaki Everblaze  
 **Story:** The World Shakes With Silence   
**Pairing:** Olaf/Violet, hints of Olaf/Kit and Olaf/Esme   
**Summary:** Nostalgia breeds sadness, sadness brings fear, fear hoists hate, hate mirrors love, and love causes nostalgia. A circle of catastrophic dimensions.   
**Disclaimer:** While I might've enjoyed my romps with the characters of ASOUE for the last five years, I never have (and doubtfully ever will) own the rights of the Baudelaires and all they've encountered. All that belongs solely to Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler (except perhaps the Count, who belongs to himself in addition).   
**Chapter:** Chapter 4

Standing outside the Queequeg ten minutes later, the orphans surveyed their handiwork, and Olaf stared doubtfully at the gum-sealed glass.

"Are you sure it's going to hold against the water pressure?" he asked.

"Nope."

"Excellent."

The door on the far side of the docking room swung open and the count rolled his eyes.

"Took you long enough, Hooky."

"Sorry boss, you know how Carmelita and Es--..." Brown eyes widened and found someone more familiar than anyone else, before Olaf was certain he wasn't going to get anymore decent conversation for a few minutes, at least.

There was a moment of quiet calm between the Baudelaire orphans and the count while Fiona and Fernald had their (somewhat) happy little reunion. Olaf leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his lean chest, as the Baudelaires stared in dumbfounded... well, Klaus and the baby stared in silence, and Violet looked a little uncomfortable (but not exactly surprised). Her near-nonchalance was what kept Olaf quiet, considering her for a long moment before breaking the quell.

"Fernald, I need you to make sure they don't escape," Olaf sighed in mild boredom, waving a hand over the two younger Baudelaires and snaking an arm around Violet's shoulders, who cringed under his touch like he was going to kick her.

Fernald straightened up and nodded curtly, still hook-in-hand with Fiona, who was now blinking up at him in confusion and fear.

"You're just going to listen to him? Aye?"

Gritting his teeth, her brother took a deep breath. "I have no choice," he said quietly. "He's the boss."

Olaf snorted a little at the melodramatics before turning around. "Come on, Orphan," he said, pulling Violet with him as he faced the Queequeg, throwing an arm out in front of him in a wide arc as he declared theatrically, "We have a whole world to tear down."

Violet gritted her teeth and placed her hands on his waist, trying to push him away, but he merely tightened his grip. For a moment, everyone else just watched they struggled, before she gave up and he started to steer her towards the ship.

"Boss? Where are you going?"

Olaf turned back to face his cohort, smirking. "Violet and I have had a little engagement for a while now, but last time she decided to call a rain check. So, while we're gone, you're in charge."

Having successfully pulled open the hatch, pushed the eldest Baudelaire inside, and taken in the shocked and disgusted looks on everyone's face (only Fernald seemed to be trying his damnedest to hide the latter), Olaf followed her in before calling over his shoulder, "Oh, by the way; if Esme and Carmelita give you any trouble, throw them overboard. Give them my regards."

With that, the door slammed shut, and the count and the orphan were alone.

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The rest of the day was spent in almost complete silence. Olaf had rushed up the ladder, fired up the engines and, without a backward glance, they shot out from the octopus submarine and into the sea.

Keeping one eye on the gummed-up window (Violet had held it in place while the gum adjusted to the pressure, but he didn't entirely trust her to not try and sabotage him in some way) and the other on Violet herself, who was seated at the long table with her head rested on her arms, he charted a guesstimated course before deciding that the submarine could fend without a captain for a while, and climbed down the ladder to see her.

Seating himself opposite her, he tilted his head forwards, trying to see if she was asleep. Reaching out a hand, he gently brushed her hair out of the way. Violet's head snapped up, and she surveyed him with surprise and suspicion.

"What're you doing?" she asked, her voice edged with warning.

"Watching you sleep," he replied, fully intending to sound creepy and apparently succeeding.

"Why?" she asked, sounding unsure as to whether or not she really wanted to know.

"Well, I want to make sure you don't snore. It's a complete turnoff to know that your future wife has a nasal problem."

A resounding slap across the face made him reel, and he watched, temporarily stunned, as she turned on her heel and stormed out, her hair flying out behind her before she slammed the door leading to the barracks behind her.

Olaf didn't know what to say to that, so he sat in silence and massaged his cheek.

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Three hours came and went, while he tried to busy himself with other things, before he felt a nagging feeling at the back of his mind told him to check on his fiancee.

Leaving the control room behind, he strode down the adjoining hallway, opening the door at the far end and peeking inside.

Violet was curled on the farthest bed, her back to the door.

Sliding into the room (and flinching when the metal door screeched shut behind him) he padded as quietly as he could to her bedside.

Violet rolled over suddenly, and he blinked down at her, wondering mildly whether she was going to slap him again.

"Are you going to kill Klaus and Sunny?"

Olaf started. "What?"

Violet sat up, an expression of complete seriousness on her face. "Are you going to kill my brother and sister?"

"... No."

"Are you going to kill me, when you get the money?"

"Not unless you want me to."

Violet stared at him, hard, before asking her third question. "How do you intend to marry me?"

Olaf was quiet.

"You're not going to make my consummate the marriage, are you?"

More silence.

"Get out," Violet said, more tired than bitter now.

But Olaf didn't leave.****

Author's Note:  
ADADFAGFAFDAHFD This took a stupidly long time to finish, seriously. D:


	6. Contrivance V

**Author:** Nanaki Everblaze  
 **Story:** The World Shakes With Silence   
**Pairing:** Olaf/Violet, hints of Olaf/Kit and Olaf/Esme   
**Summary:** Nostalgia breeds sadness, sadness brings fear, fear hoists hate, hate mirrors love, and love causes nostalgia. A circle of catastrophic dimensions.   
**Disclaimer:** While I might've enjoyed my romps with the characters of ASOUE for the last five years, I never have (and doubtfully ever will) own the rights of the Baudelaires and all they've encountered. All that belongs solely to Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler (except perhaps the Count, who belongs to himself in addition).   
**Chapter:** Chapter 5

Olaf woke up to a jarring scream of metal against stone, and he yelped and covered his ears as the sound screeched down his spine with a shiver. Violet groaned from her place in her hammock next to him (_'When did I fall asleep? And why on the _floor_?'_), before his future wife sat up, throwing the thin blanket off herself, and let out a little sound of surprise when she spotted him sitting hardly a foot away. Grabbing the hammock underneath her for support, she recovered quicker than he expected to.

"What did you do?!" she spat furiously, pulling herself to her feet roughly and tearing out the door, grabbing her helmet as she went. Olaf followed, rubbing his temple and stumbling slightly over the doorstop.

Peering around the corner, he saw her disappear through the far door that lead to the control room, before following. The horrid grinding sound had ceased, and in spite of the continued hum of the engine, they didn't seem to be going anywhere.

_'No surprises there.'_

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A brief investigation revealed that they'd run aground against the cliffside by none other than the Hotel Denouement. Climbing the ladder to the topmost hatch, Olaf reached up and grasped the handle, spinning it quickly and pushing it open. Violet followed him silently, and they stood for a moment on the surface of the Queequeg, before Olaf pulled something out of his pocket. Aiming it into the sky, he fired, and a red light flashed upwards, flickering for a moment before going out.

Violet sighed next to him in the brief moment that followed. "Was that supposed to do something?" she asked testily.

Olaf smirked, but didn't answer. He didn't need to, though. The hum of an engine could be faintly heard in the distance, and he yawned in response as a small boat roared into view.

Violet flinched next to him as she caught sight of who was aboard, and Olaf scratched the back of his neck a little nervously while he waited.

"Back already, Olaf?" a deep voice called as the boat pulled in close to them.

"Yes," he said, as formally as he could. "It looks like one of my old plans might succeed this time after all."

The Man with the Beard but no Hair and the Woman with Hair but no Beard glanced at one another curiously. "Oh?" the man asked, catching sight of Violet who, in spite of herself, took a small step back, almost behind Olaf.

Olaf smiled for a moment, before chewing his lip. "But I need a judge, and a witness."

The Man with a Beard but no Hair glanced at his partner again, who nodded, and they both smirked. "Alright, have it your way."

"And I need the proper documentation."

The Woman with Hair but no Beard knelt down and pulled a briefcase out from underneath the control panel of the boat. "Let's see," she said. "Annulments, Birth Certificates, Death Certificates, Hunting Licences, Legalized Killing Licences--" Olaf exchanged a glance with the Bearded Man, who simply smiled and shrugged, "Ah, here we are, Marriage certificates."

Pulling out a thin piece of paper, she also removed a clipboard and a pen.

"Let's skip the ceremony. Do you take this girl to be your wife?"

Olaf grinned. "I do."

"Very well," she said, turning to Violet. "Do you--?"

"Yes," Violet said, before she could finish, just wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible."

Olaf raised his eyebrow for a moment before shrugging.

"Sign," the Woman said, handing Olaf the certificate.

When he was done, he handed it to Violet, who wrote her name quickly, hoping that the other two would leave soon. Given the choice between Olaf and his associates, Violet would gladly have Olaf alone. All three of them together were putting her at her wit's end.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the Woman said cheerlessly. "You may now kiss your bride."

Violet didn't even get a chance to digest the sentence before Olaf grabbed her, spun her against him, and kissed her.

He grinned into her mouth, not daring to deepen it with his associates watching, but enjoying it nonetheless. Her lips were soft and warm and swelling against his, and her heartbeat quickened, and she was pushing against him, trying to wiggle away, and he let her go suddenly, watching as she fell back and landed on the sealed hatch. Violet wiped her mouth vigourously (which he found a little ridiculous, considering he hadn't even used his tongue), blushing and glaring daggers at all three of them.

The Man and the Woman, however, ignored them both pointedly. "There's a room reserved for you, 822. We would've put you into room number 176, but it was already booked."

They both snickered, before firing up the engine on their boat and giving Olaf a wave. "See you tomorrow."

"Until then!" Olaf said, waving back nervously, and they sped away.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Olaf turned to Violet, who was still lying on the surface of the submarine.

"Come on, Orphan, we'll have to go around."

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"Uh, hi," Olaf said some three hours and a disguise later. "We're here to get our reservation for room 822? And we were wondering if you could send up an order of salt?"

The man behind the counter smirked, blinking down at Violet (who was still blushing from having to change behind a tree).

"Come along," he said, and they followed him into the elevator.

Almost as soon as the door closed the man burst into a fit of giggles. "You married the _Baudelaire_ girl? Are you serious?!"

"Shut up, Ernest," Olaf sighed, "And when did you find out?"

"Just now, the bosses told me." Ernest gave him a wry grin, "Are you going to consummate the marriage _here_?"

Olaf frowned. "Maybe."

Ernest snickered. "I'll make Frank clean the sheets."

Violet looked like she was about to be sick.****

Author's Note:  
There will be smut in the next chapter. :]

Oh Ernest, you silly bitch, Frank cleans nothing. He makes Dewey do it. O:


	7. Orsus I

**Author:** Nanaki Everblaze  
 **Story:** The World Shakes With Silence   
**Pairing:** Olaf/Violet, hints of Olaf/Kit and Olaf/Esme   
**Summary:** Nostalgia breeds sadness, sadness brings fear, fear hoists hate, hate mirrors love, and love causes nostalgia. A circle of catastrophic dimensions.   
**Disclaimer:** While I might've enjoyed my romps with the characters of ASOUE for the last five years, I never have (and doubtfully ever will) own the rights of the Baudelaires and all they've encountered. All that belongs solely to Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler (except perhaps the Count, who belongs to himself in addition).   
**Chapter:** Chapter 6  
**Warnings: **EXPLICIT SEX IN CHAPTER

Almost as soon as the door was closed behind them, Violet bolted across the bedroom to the adjoining bathroom and locked the door behind her with a resounding click. It took Olaf a moment before he realized she had no intention on coming out again anytime soon, before he smirked, his mind making up it's own reasons why she didn't want to be disturbed. Sauntering over to the bed and throwing off his suit jacket, he flopped down onto the mattress and pulled his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He quickly grew bored of this, though, and rolled over, grabbing the receiver of the bedside phone and dialling for room service.

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Violet still hadn't come out by the time his order arrived --four extra-large pizzas with bits of steak and bacon, and a bottle of wine (all charged to Esme, of course, if she ever showed up)-- and it wasn't until he was half-way through his first two slices when she poked her head around the door.

"You got food?" she asked tentatively.

Olaf smirked, devouring the slice he had and grabbing two more, folding them together before replying at length, "Villains need to eat, too."

He half expected her to say something nasty to him, but she surprised him when she merely walked cautiously to him, and he grabbed the box and held it up for her. Violet sat on the edge of the bed, her legs clenched shut as if she expected him to leap across their meal, slam her against the floor and have his wicked way.

The count merely stared in abject boredom as she took the box from him tremblingly, peering inside. There were still four slices left, and she pulled one out, apparently surprised she had saved her so much. This quickly vanished when he pulled another box out from beside the bed, along with the bottle of wine and two large glasses. Pouring them both a glass (hers had considerably less, she noted, but figured he probably just wanted most of it for himself), he handed hers over, before started on another slice.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, while they both ate, before Olaf noticed Violet staring at him.

"What, orphan?"

"Do you always fold you pizza slices that way?"

Olaf blinked at her, startled at how forward she was. "What does it matter?"

Violet shrugged, her tension apparently gone. "Don't think it does. It's just strange, is all."

The count stared at her for a moment, sipping his wine. "You should drink, you know. When you're done we're going to make this marriage valid. You _know_ what that means."

Violet didn't do anything, didn't flinch, didn't run, didn't cry. "I know. I want to be sober."

"Why?"

"So I can remember."

No sexy tone, no feeble attempt of seduction, no nervousness. Just business.

Olaf smirked in spite of himself. "It'll be painful at first."

"At first," Violet echoed quietly, as if it was all the answers she needed.

"Yes. Only at first." Olaf openly grinned now, closing the box and placing it on the floor and taking another swig of wine before placing his now empty glass on the table. Pulling Violet's glass out of her hand and doing the same, he seized her hands and pulled her to him.

"Come here."

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Neither of them said much after that. Olaf pulled her right up against him, flicking his tongue along her neck, as his hands reached behind her back to loosen her dress. In spite of her rather brave front, she was quivering in fear, her hands clenching into the front of his shirt and chewing her lip to keep from whimpering when he finally slid the dress down her shoulders. Burying her face in his chest, she shivered when he ran his fingertips up and down her bare arms, feeling the goose bumps as he pulled at the back of her (admittedly tiny) bra, looking for the clip.

Finally finding it, he unsnapped it, before tugging her arms up and wrenching the dress off her, pushing her down on her back and starting to run his tongue down the middle of her chest, between her petite, soft breasts. He ran a finger around one of her nipples as he did so, around and around, watching it harden while he blew warm air over the other, before pulling one into his mouth and pinching the other. She didn't so much as whimper, but she jolted and shuddered, chewing her lips feverishly and squirming in discomfort.

Smirking, he started to slide himself down her body, trailing his tongue over her bellybutton and moving lower until he could see her panties. ('_White? Good _lord_.'_)****

Licking his lips (and more than ready to consummate the marriage), he slowly pulled her legs apart and revelled for a moment as he ran a hand over her warm flesh, hearing her make a tiny, uncertain sound. Grinning, he hooked a finger underneath the crotch of her panties and pulled them to the side, revealing her lovely, swollen little outer lips and a tiny V of brownish-black curls. Groaning deep in his throat, he slowly pulled apart her flesh, letting out a suddenly impatient huff when he saw how moist she was. He was unbearably tempted to bury his face in that wonderful little cleft, but he decided to wait, wanting to tease her into submission. Not that she wasn't submissive already, but he wanted her whimpering for a whole new reason.

Carefully, he began to stroke his index finger against the swollen little nub where her lips began, not pressing down, scarcely even touching her. For a moment Violet didn't seem to respond, but she slowly started to squirm under him, huffing as she kept a hand clamped over her mouth to keep from moaning. For a moment, she even tried to close her legs, but he kept them open with his elbows, before stopping. Sliding up her again, he sat up, unbuttoning his shirt and eyeing her as he did so, taking in her flushed cheeks and her slight glare. Throwing off his shirt, he started to work on his pants, unzipping them and shoving them down. Violet gulped and quickly looked away, obviously completely at a loss as to what to do, and he grinned before pulling down his underwear and throwing it to the side, almost chuckling when she tried not to look at him out of the corners of her eyes.

"Violet," he said, in the most commanding voice he could manage under the circumstances.

That did it; her head snapped up to look him in the eyes, before sliding down his body and, reluctantly, to view his equipment. With the way she stared in the seconds that followed, he doubted she had seen one before. She looked utterly dumbfounded ('Of course she is,' he thought smugly, 'who wouldn't be?') before he grasped her hand, and placed it around his want, lying down on top of her fully as he did so. Violet peered down between them for a minute while she felt him, and he smirked as her fingers explored him, before he reached down and grabbed her hand again, placing it above her head, and positioned himself between her open legs.

He felt a warm moisture against his tip, and smirked, and just as Violet was starting to work up the courage to ask "How?" he shoved himself inside.

Violet let out a little snapping groan as he shuddered and his eyes rolled and '_oh, God,_' was she ever hot and wet and lovely. Taking in a huge breath, he raised himself on his elbows to see her, and oh, did she ever look _furious_, but she was just as pretty when she was angry, so he couldn't really be bothered to worry.

Pulling back slowly, he peered between them and saw a thin rivulet of blood, but not enough to disgust him, so he pressed back inside her, gentler this time, and heard her sigh in response, her expression turning neutral.

Taking her face in his hands, he kissed down her neck as he began to rock his hips in shallow, slow thrusts, willing her to get over it, before starting to pick up the pace, sliding his fingers along her sides and her back as he felt her start to shiver, and delighting in her soft, tight flesh.

Finally starting to feel secure enough that he wouldn't hurt her (why should he care, though, it's not like she _meant _anything, right?) he raised himself onto his arms, starting to deepen his thrusts, and she groaned and tightened around him (oh, was that even _possible_?) pulsing slickly around him as he began to work her harder, panting a little from excitement, his own body starting to shudder as well, and suddenly her hands were up and her fingers were in his hair and he was gasping from pleasure, his arousal hot and hers _burning_, and she was so close already (_'Thank God,'_ he thought for what had to be at least the third time that day,) and he was slamming his hips against hers now, as deep as her body would allow, and she was gasping, eyes closed and her legs twining around his hips.

"Oh yes, oh yes, oh _yes_," he heard in his head, and for a moment he thought he was the one gasping it, but no, it was the orphan underneath him, and he felt her spasm and clench and squeal and her toes were curling and oh, oh, she was tight and pulsing and her insides were trembling, and she was climaxing, her pleasure gushing thickly against him, and he groaned in realization as she suddenly went silent, clinging to him and shuddering while he continued to slam into her, but not for long, before his back arched and he shook and groaned and spurted inside of her, painting her wonderful little peach with his own colours (but in this light it all looked the same).

There was a moment where he hung over her, panting, before he slid his hands around her and rolled them over so she was against him, on top of him. Sighing, he stroked her back while she continued to shake against him, before realization hit him like a ton of bricks, right to the face.****

Author's Note:  
Gehehehehe. C: Silly Olaf, don't you remember sex ed? Don't be silly, wrap your willy?

lol I fail so hard.

Btw, the five paragraphs before the last one are supposed to be the world's longest run-on sentences. I shit you not.

Longest chapter yet. D:

Wanted to get it done since I'm gone for a week. So if there's any editingshit that needs to be done, whatever. (Except aforementioned parasentences.)


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